


Somewhere Out There

by TMar



Category: Beauty and the Beast (TV 1987)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 04:58:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TMar/pseuds/TMar
Summary: Vincent discovers the multiverse and that Catherine isn't dead in every iteration.





	Somewhere Out There

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine "From Cloudless Climes", May 1991. Lyrics used are from "The Arms of Orion" by Prince and "Somewhere Out There" from the movie "An American Tail".

Somewhere Out There

No matter what he did, or didn't do, what he wished, or didn't wish, she  
was dead. Dead; gone forever. From this Earth, but not from his heart.  
Vincent had returned from the tunnel beneath the Catacombs, wishing that he  
could remember the moment which had created their child, and wishing, too,  
against everything he was, that it was all just a bad dream. But that would  
deny his - their - son, deny that one time they had loved... which he could  
not remember.

In his heart he knew she was dead, physically. But yet she lived, in him.  
With him. Always. Her presence still remained within him, and he wondered  
if... somehow, somewhere, she was alive. In some indefinable way, Vincent  
felt that she was gone... and yet not. There was meaning, here. But Vincent  
did not know how to find it, how to sift it, how to understand what the  
meaning he sensed actually *meant*.

"We loved... there's a child..." Some part of him felt, instinctively, that  
in another place and time, Catherine had said this, not in desperation and  
sadness, but in happiness and joy, standing by him, looking at him, alive!  
He did not know what that meant, but he went up to the tunnel entrance in  
the Park, where Catherine had so loved to walk, and looked up, at the stars.

"Catherine.. ." his mind asked them, "are you there, somehow?" He did not  
really expect an answer.

***

When I'm lost and feeling lonely  
I just look to Heaven  
I find my comfort there...  
God only knows where you are tonight.

***

He stood in blackness, thick and suffocating, seeing nothing... There was  
nothing to see. He knew it, as he knew that this was apart from the world  
he knew, apart from the place he knew, outside time and space itself. But  
somehow he knew he was here for... answers.

He knew it even as the Light (which was not Catherine's light, but somehow  
contained her light, contained some part of her which could tell him why he  
still felt her presence even though he knew her to be gone) approached him.  
It filled up only its own physical realm, not casting light on any physical  
place. The shape inside appeared as a person... neither male nor female that  
Vincent could see, simply an extraordinarily beautiful BEING, there to  
inform him, tell him, why he felt this way, what the meaning he sensed was.

He did not ask, "Who are you?" It seemed irrelevant. So he asked, "Where am  
I?", knowing that he would not understand the answer, but having to hear  
something. He/she replied, "In the place where answers are possible. Answers  
like those you have been asking: why, where, when, how."

"In my own time?"

"This place is beyond time, Vincent. Beyond everything. You knew that."

Vincent conceded. The blackness no longer suffocated him... instead, it  
nourished him, somehow. His soul felt it as it touched him, reassuring him.  
"Yes," was all he said.

"Then ask. Ask me what you wish to know. I will answer. I can answer  
everything."

"Is Catherine alive?" He had to know. Somewhere she was, he felt sure of it.  
But perhaps it was only her echo within his own heart.

"Yes, in many universes, in many times and places, she is."

In the blackness appeared images: a city, stretching toward the sky... a  
balcony... a park. Vincent recognized it - Central Park. Catherine walked  
there, in sunlight, smiling, holding a single rose, heading towards a tunnel.  
"Catherine!" It was a shout, torn from Vincent. "She lives!"

The Being conceded, yet without complete agreement. He/she had to explain to  
Vincent what had happened in the cosmos, who that woman in the image was.  
He/she replied, "Yes, it is Catherine, as you say. But she is not YOUR  
Catherine. Do you understand?"

Vincent shook his head, staring transfixed at the image of Catherine, alive  
and well, somewhere. The Being continued, "In your time and place, your  
universe, Catherine is indeed dead. But in this one, in this time and place,  
she lives." Comprehension dawned and Vincent nodded. If such a being as he  
could live, then there could be other... places... where Vincent and  
Catherine lived their happy life. The image faded, to be replaced by another  
one. This one Vincent did not recognize.

A woman, red-haired, was tending a rosebush from which bloomed red and white  
roses. Vincent had a sudden memory of putting his lips to Catherine's finger,  
of one perfect moment when everything had seemed possible and time had stood  
still. It had only been a moment, but the rosebush this woman tended was  
Catherine's rosebush! He was puzzled. "Is this woman Catherine in another  
universe?"

"No."

"Then who is she?"

"In this universe, as in yours, Catherine died. She..." he/she faltered, as  
if refusing to say the name of the woman so lovingly tending the bush, "she  
is someone who will come to mean a lot to you... to the Vincent of that  
universe."

Vincent stared at the woman, who looked street-wise, like many women you  
would meet when they got tired of life Above and came Below; he knew she  
would be soft and fragile in reality, as were those women who finally  
realized that they had a home, and family. This was such a woman. "She's  
beautiful," he finally said. "Inside and out." Then another thought occurred.  
"Will I... meet her, too?"

The Being only answered, "Who you meet, or do not meet, is for your universe,  
and the circumstances of that universe, to decide. I cannot tell you."

The image before Vincent changed again. A woman, with black hair, different,  
walked with... with HIM! in the Park. Only it was not truly him, but  
another... version? That was not the right word. It was another him. Another  
Vincent. "There are many such universes, many possibilities," said the Being.  
"More than you could count, or even comprehend."

"I do not comprehend it," Vincent finally agreed, "but I understand, now."

"Do you?" The scene changed... moved... and a new image appeared. A woman,  
sitting in a chair, was reading. The book seemed to be sudddenly magnified,  
and Vincent could see the words:

... Catherine returned holding Charles. 'Vincent, do you know what your son  
did?' She was smiling. Vincent only looked up, quizzically. 'He tried to  
feed Arthur's food to his brother!' This, Vincent thought, was what family  
life must be all about, and he reveled in it...

Then the image was of Catherine, bustling in holding, it seemed, Charles.  
"Vincent," she said, "Do you know what your son did?"

The shock on Vincent's face was obvious, but the Being stopped him before he  
could say what he thought it all meant. "No, Vincent, it is not what you are  
thinking. In that universe, unlike in all the others, there is no equivalent  
of you, none of Catherine, or Father The people there experience life  
through what they see as fiction; they live through hope, through romance.  
To them, you are fiction. But you have meaning for them."

It was true. To them, Vincent knew, he was beautiful. And loved. Yet, if  
they were actually writing what happened... Vincent felt diminished. Was he  
merely a creation of others? Was Catherine? "But...!" If things such as this  
were possible, perhaps someone would give Catherine back to him, perhaps...  
All he said, hiding the hope which filled him, was, "What they write, it  
happens."

"No. They pick up on what happens. They do not know where their ideas come  
from, but they tap into the other universes, other times and places, and  
there are as many stories as there are universes. A infinite number..."

Vincent had to know - what about him? Was he destined to get Catherine back?  
Would he meet the woman with red hair? Would the emptiness in his heart ever  
go away? And his son... With tears in his eyes, Vincent looked at the Being.  
"I have to know." The Being smiled at him, shaking its head, and explained  
why he could NOT know; why, when he returned to his chamber, he would not  
remember.

But he would feel that somewhere out there, Catherine did live. Somewhere  
out there, a Vincent such as he loved, and was loved in return.

"Please," he asked the Being, "allow me to see Catherine once again."

What he saw, he knew, was himself. Not another Vincent, but himself "I can  
feel it... It's me, isn't it?" Yes, himself - growling in the pitch darkness  
of the tunnel below the Catacombs.

No answer, but he knew it was. A Catherine (his Catherine!) rushed forward,  
shouting, "Vincent!" He did not claw her; instead they collapsed together to  
the floor. Vincent could not remember this - had not remembered - and even  
now his memory did not awaken, but he knew: it was truth.

Catherine ("Catherine!") was leaning over him now, calling his name, her  
voice panic-stricken. "No! Vincent, you can't! You can't, not without me! I  
won't let you, I won't let you!" And when she kissed him, the Vincent  
standing in darkness remembered only that - one soft touch, the completion  
he had longed for but never acted on.

He watched the scene unfold before him, as all he had ever dreamed of  
happened before him, as he saw the beauty and the love which they had  
finally shared. He did not remember. He - did - not - remember! But he knew,  
and he cried.

Vincent sank to his knees, crying openly for the love which should have been  
shared in another way, any way but this: a desperate reaching for life and  
love on her part, for the last chance to prove that she wanted him, that she  
loved him! And he had not known, not until, with her dying breath, Catherine  
had finally told him everything. And now... He had to get the child back...  
the proof that his love for Catherine had not been a dream, but sweet  
reality.

Eventually, the soothing darkness faded and was gone. The Light was gone,  
and Vincent felt desolate again as he was returned to his chamber, his mind  
telling him there was something... something which he ought to remember.  
Catherine was dead, he knew. But, somehow, she was alive as well. Not for  
him, not ever again - and it hurt so much he thought the pain would crush  
him - but for someone, somewhere, she was.

Vincent had a sudden, sharp memory of the tunnel below the Catacombs, of  
Catherine's lips on his, and of his response! The tears glistened on his  
cheeks as he remembered it all - the love, the beauty, the hope, the  
desperation for life. And life had come: his son - their child, a blossom  
from their love - had been born.

Life. "My son lives. And I must live for him."

***

Vincent again stood in the Park in the moonlight, looking up, up, into the  
sky. He could not say how he knew. He could not remember the Being, the  
Light, and the revelations, but he knew: somewhere, Catherine was alive. The  
pain of not having her had the potential to crush him, but he would not let  
it, because their son lived. He had to find him and bring him home. And  
somewhere, in another time and place, Catherine lived too.

Vincent clutched the porcelain rose tightly, knowing his troubles were only  
beginning, but knowing that somewhere out there, someone like him knew the  
love of Catherine... and was happy.

***

Somewhere out there  
if love can see us through  
then we'll be together,  
somewhere out there,  
out where dreams come true.

THE END


End file.
